


Summer Breeze

by laraF



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Gen, Mention of Character Death, Oneshot, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Panic Attacks, Peter Needs a Hug, Pre Season 1, Promise, Stiles Needs a Hug, Talia and Peter has a rocky relationship, also mention of child abuse, and that's an understatement, as in Claudia Stilinski, from her part too, it can be complete AU, mild depression, next will be silly fluff, nothing detailed, or something that really happened, preslash, sad and bittersweet, why not do it together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7611478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laraF/pseuds/laraF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Talia forces Peter to a traditional pack-bonding and let’s-socialize-with-puny-humans experience. Peter hates it at the beginning. Then he meets a little kid with doe eyes and the scent of summer breeze.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Breeze

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed (as ususal). Sorry!
> 
> Characters and their world is still not mine. Unfortunately.

 

 

 

“This is a terrible idea.”

  
“You're over dramatizing it.”

  
“I hate you.”

  
“Definitely.”

  
“I'm not going.”

  
“Yes, you are.”

  
“Why should I? I'll surely ruin everyone's day.” He couldn't help the slight bitterness in his tone. Talia either didn't hear it, or deemed it unimportant.

  
“Because I'm the Alpha and I say you'll be on your best behaviour. Is that understood?”

  
“I hate you.”

  
“You're repeating yourself.”

  
Peter rolled his eyes.

 

  
*

 

  
It was a sunny day. A perfect day for a fair, Talia said. Peter didn't care. He hated fairs. The gathered masses were always so pathetic with their sanctimonious manners and petty manipulations. Middle aged house wives were competing with their stupid apple pies while their kids wreaked havoc and generally acted like unwashed and uneducated monkeys. They ate sugary concoctions enough for at least a hundred years causing his otherwise unusually reasonable nephews and nieces demand the same treatment. They made him crazy and his wallet almost empty. He had to drag them through a horde of impressive beer bellies, baskets with firm edges and aggressive elbows just to play some laughable games for even more comical prizes. Or to get more candy apples, cotton candy, _candied anything._ _Brrrr_.

  
And the god-awful noise. All those machines' (he really hated them; the big wheel, the carousel, the roller-coaster, everything) incessant whining and screeching. They screamed _neglect;_ it raised the hair on his arms. It was a miracle that they still worked and no mishaps took place. So far. (That alone was excellent suing material but unfortunately Talia would've ripped off his head if he used it.) Not to mention the people's shouting, burping, laughing, chewing and _other_ sound effects. Or the stench. The food, that was bearable but the cheap alcohol, the sour sweat mixing with the public washrooms and exhaust fumes... To Peter it seemed that every family came with _at least three cars_ from the stink alone. How the other werewolves tolerated the sheer overload a fair provided for their senses... Peter could never understand. And his control was _exceptional_.

  
At the end of the day he used to flip. The best scenario was a haunted house because he just shifted in a dark corner and jumped an unsuspecting couple to scare the shit out of them. Ah, good old days. When Talia sniffed out his _tricks_ she used her _Alpha-power_ to prevent any other attempt. She's never been fun.

  
Now, he tamed himself. So much so, that Cora got bored at his side which never happened before. He wasn't in his element.

  
Even he had no idea why today but the usual loneliness weighed him down more. His ire toward his person didn't help. He tried to convince himself that he didn't _want_ anybody close. Not Talia, who looked down on him, not his adorable nephews and nieces who chose someone else. Not anybody from their _pack_. But lying to himself was miserable. The pressure slowly seeped into his muscles, to his bones. His mind became foggy, his lungs constricted. He wanted _out_.

  
He struggled a bit to find the end of the seemingly endless line of tents, games and booths but he was successful. There was an abandoned clearing next to the forest. Perfect. He took a deep breath concentrating on the trees liberating aroma. His initial panic started to fade. Minutes passed but he lost himself in this simple task – relaxing his cramped muscles and letting go of inner demons if only for moments.

  
It dawned on him slowly, the scent of something, _someone_ different – it was so natural, so perfectly in tune with the forest. Hazel, sun-warmed skin, the light breeze on a summer day. That was the core of it, the very essence of the individual. When he opened his eyes and turned around he saw a little, pale figure; a mere child, no more than eight years old. He sat on a tree trunk, swinging his legs. His huge doe eyes contrasted with a captivating mole-dotted face, constantly twitching limbs and a t-shirt starring various comic book heroes. It was obvious that the little kid's default setting was happiness. Or used to be.

  
“I always need a quiet place too.” Peter frowned. “When I have a panic attack. Dad told me to breathe. You did that.” His voice became challenging, like he wanted one of Peter's famous witty comebacks. _Stupid_. _What are you even thinking?_

_  
_ “Your father must be a wise man.” He didn't understand himself. First, he fails to notice an alien presence and now he's practically admitting a weakness. But strangely he felt at ease with this kid. He sat next to him with a heavy sigh.

  
“He's the best dad ever,” the kid said proudly, puffing up his chest. “He's just sad that mum's dead.”

  
Peter had nothing to say to that.

  
“I'm not that much. Sad, I mean. Mum wanted to hurt me...” His voice trembled then died off. His eyes got misty, but the tears refused to fall. Peter felt his protective instincts stir, like this kid was one of his pack's pup. He huffed.

  
“You want a bite?” came the sudden question but before Peter could have a heart attack he recognized what the pup referred to. In his hands he cautiously balanced several funnel cakes on top of each other on a paper napkin.

  
“I don't like sweets.” Peter skidded a little closer to the pup's warmth then berated himself. He wasn't pack but he sure _felt_ like it.

  
“Me neither,” the pup smiled brightly. Peter's heart stopped for a moment. “Dad knows. These are salty.” He pushed one greasy cake into his palm. “Food makes you happier. Eat it,” the pup commanded.

  
They ate in amicable silence. The sun just disappeared behind the trees when a distressed looking police officer stomped to them and scooped up the kid. Peter watched them with hooded eyes.

  
_Stiles._

_  
_ Fascinating name for a fascinating pup.

  
He didn't regret obeying Talia in the end.

 

 

The End

 

 


End file.
